


Appendicitis

by ClairvoyantDreamer1011



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: British!Natsu, Doctor!Natsu, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Lawyer!Lucy, Nalu - Freeform, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClairvoyantDreamer1011/pseuds/ClairvoyantDreamer1011
Summary: Lucy Heartfilia is a lawyer faking to have appendicitis for the sake of consulting a doctor for her case. But Dr Dragneel is just oh so persistent in paging a psychiatrist for her. AU fanfic.





	Appendicitis

**Author's Note:**

> 30/6/17 - Okay, so this was originally posted in Fanfiction.net a few years ago when I first started writing, so it probably has a lot of plotholes and mistakes that I wasn't aware of at the time. But anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. :)

In retrospect, it would have been  _much_  easier to place a phone call to a medical professional who might lecture me on the ins and outs of organ donation. But it could take a week for a busy doctor to call me back, and time is  _not_  on my – nor my client's – side. These are the only grounds I can offer for why to stop in the emergency room. The faster I could speak to an expert to gather some information on my client's case, the faster I could start building the actual case.

But seriously, I have no idea how I came to be an attorney for death row prisoners who want to donate organs – more or less his heart – to the sister of his victim. My mind was  _still_ buzzing from the news of the case I've been assigned to, and if that's not enough _,_ I'm starting to get a migraine thanks to the nurse that's currently blocking my way.

The nurse in front of me – a petite graying woman who looked as though she wanted to (and was probably planning to) castrate me for not registering at the counter – compressed her mouth into a flat line when I requested to talk to the doctor.

'What's the problem?' she asked. She glared at me through her glasses. Her scrunched up nose and deep scowl only perfected her 'Mrs Scrooge' look.

Gulping, I straightened up and tried to put on the heartless attorney look that I usually sport in court. 'I've got a few questions – '

'So does everyone else in that waiting room, but you'll still have to explain the nature of the illness to me.'

'Oh, I'm not sick…'

She glanced around me. 'Then where's the patient?'

Here comes the hard part. 'He's at the state prison.'

'Excuse me?'

I took a step forward and looked the nurse in the eye. 'My client is currently at the state prison, awaiting his death sentence. Therefore, he is unable to be here in person.'

The nurse shook her head. 'The patient has to be present for registration.'

I found that hard to believe. Surely someone knocked unconscious in a car accident wasn't left waiting in the hall until he came to and could recite his Blue Cross group number.

'We're busy,' the nurse said, turning away from me. 'When the patient arrives, sign in again.'

'But I'm a lawyer – '

'So sue me,' she promptly replied.

Sighing, I walked back to the waiting room and sat down next to a college-age boy with a bloody handkerchief wrapped around his hand. 'I did that once,' I said. 'Cutting a bagel.'

He turned to me. 'I put my hand through a plate-glass window because my girlfriend was screwing my roommate.' A nurse appeared. 'Romeo Conbolt?' she said, and the boy stood up.

'Good luck with that,' I called after him, and I speared my fingers through my blond hair, thinking hard. Leaving a message with the nurse didn't guarantee the doctor would see it anytime in the next millennium – I had to find another way in.

Five minutes later I was standing in front of Mrs Scrooge again. 'The patient arrived?' she asked without sparing me a glance.

'Well. Yes. It's me.'

She raised her head and put down her pen. 'You're sick now.'

I nodded in affirmation.

'You weren't sick - ' she looked at her watch. ' – five minutes ago.'

I shrugged. 'I'm thinking appendicitis…'

The nurse pursed her lips. 'You know you'll be charged a hundred and fifty Jewels for an emergency room visit, even if it is fabricated.'

'You mean insurance doesn't – '

'Nope.'

I thought of my client, of the sound the steel doors made when they scraped shut in prison. Was a man's life not even worth a hundred Jewels? 'It's my abdomen. Sharp pains.'

'Which side?'

'My left…?' The nurse narrowed her eyed. 'I meant my other left.'

'Take a seat.'

I settled in the waiting room and read a few issues of Weekly Sorcerer before I was called into an exam room. A nurse – younger, wearing pink scrubs – took my blood pressure and temperature. She wrote down my health history while I mentally reviewed whether you could be criminally charged for falsifying your own medical records.

I was lying on the exam table when the doctor came in.

'Ms Heartfilia?' he said. His smooth, baritone voice made me jump slightly.

I craned my neck towards the doctor and –

Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it – he was  _stunning_. He had mesmerizing dark green eyes that had golden flecks flickering in them. His skin was slightly tanned, and his hair –  _oh his hair_  – was  _pink_. It looked well on him though. His spiky pink locks of hair kept falling into his eyes. I had this weird urge to reach forward and brush them away. I noticed that underneath his white coat, he had quite a muscular build. And when he smiled… He could have sliced me wide open with his smile.  _No, bad Lucy! Don't go there!_

My eyes unconsciously trailed over his body, realizing that he was wearing a tie that had Barbie dolls all over it. He probably had a real one at home, too – a 38-22-36 fiancée who had double-majored in law and medicine, or astrophysics and political science.

Our whole relationship was over, and I haven't even said a word to him.

'You  _are_  Ms Heartfilia?'

How had I not noticed that British accent? 'Yes,' I said, my throat instantly drying up.

'I'm Dr Dragneel.' He said, sitting down on a stool. 'Why don't you tell me what's going on?'

'Well,' I began. 'Actually, I'm fine.'

'For the record, Miss Heartfilia, appendicitis rates as pretty ill.'

 _Ill._ I loved that. I bet he says things like  _flat_ and  _loo_ and  _lift._

'Let's just check you out.' He said. He stood and hooked his stethoscope into his ears, then settled it under my shirt. I suddenly couldn't breathe. I couldn't remember the last time a man had slipped his hand underneath my shirt. I've been dumped by my boyfriend around 7 months ago, so yeah, you can do the math.

'Just breathe,' he said.

Yeah, right.

'Really, I'm not sick,' I insisted.

Ignoring me, he continued, 'Could you just lie back…?'

I instantly sat up, startling him. 'I don't have appendicitis,' I blurted out. 'I just told the nurse that because I wanted to talk to a doctor for a few minutes –'

'All right,' he said, gently. 'I'm just going to call in Dr Scarlet. I'm sure she'll talk to you all you like…' He stuck his head out the door. 'Wendy? Page psych…'

Oh, excellent. Now he thought I had a mental health problem. 'I don't need a psychiatrist,' I said, crossing my arms. 'I'm an attorney and I need a medical consultation about a client.'

I hesitated, expecting him to call in security, but instead he sat down on the stool next to me. 'Go on.'

'Do you know anything about organ transplants?'

Half an hour later, I was preparing to leave the room after gathering the basic information on my client's case. So far, I've only gotten bad news about my client's case. And after talking to Dr Dragneel, I've officially come to a conclusion - my client who is a death row prisoner, waiting to be executed through lethal injection wants to donate his heart which would most likely be unsuitable for his recipient, since his heart would be poisoned by the chemicals in the injection.

So, simply saying, no matter what miracle happens in court that permits him to donate his organs after death, there would still be a problem regarding the way of his execution.

Sighing, I turned around to thank Dr Dragneel. Noticing my defeated sigh, he asked, 'Is everything okay?'

I chuckled drily. No, everything was not okay. In fact, I am five seconds away from combusting due to brain overuse. But I forced a smile and said, 'Well, you could help by giving me some good news.'

'Of course,' Dr Dragneel grinned brightly at me and I felt like melting. 'You don't have appendicitis, Miss Heartfilia.'

* * *

Three times, I picked up the phone and dialed. Three times, I hung up just as the line connected.

I couldn't do this.

But I had to. I have two weeks to get the facts on my client's case; and if I was fight on my client's behalf to donate his heart, I needed to understand exactly how this was going to work – and be able to explain it in court.

When the hospital switchboard finally connected, I asked to speak to Dr Dragneel's office. I left my name and number with secretary, fully anticipating the fact that it would take some time before he returned my call, during which I might actually develop some backbone to speak to him. So when the phone rang almost as soon as I put down the receiver, I was shocked to hear his voice. 'Miss Heartfilia,' he said. 'What can I do for you?'

'You weren't supposed to call back this fast,' I blurted out. Then, I smacked myself internally for saying that.

'Ah, I'm sorry. I really should be less punctual with my patients.' He replied jokingly.

'I'm not your patient though.'

'Hm, you're right. You were only masquerading as one.' I could hear the smile in his voice. 'I believe you called?'

'Yes. Yes, I did. I was wondering if you might be willing to meet with me – professionally, of course – '

'Of course.'

' – and talk about legal execution and organ donation.'

'If only I had a Jewel every time I've been asked to do that,' Dr Dragneel said, letting out a bark of laughter. 'I'd be delighted to meet with you –'  _Okay, so_ maybe _I did let out a small girlish squeal._ ' – professionally, of course.'

'Of course,' I said, deflated. 'The catch is, I have to meet you fairly soon. The trial starts in two weeks.'

'Well then, Miss Heartfilia, I'll pick you up at seven.'

'O-Oh, you don't have to do that. I can meet you at the hospital.'

'Yes, but I really prefer to not eat the cafeteria Jell-O on my days off.'

'It's your day off?'  _He called me back on his day off?_  'Well, we can do it some other time…' I said, trailing off.

'Didn't you just tell me this was something that needed to be done quickly?

'Well,' I said. 'Yeah.'

'Then seven o'clock it is.'

'Excellent,' I said in my finest courtroom voice, trying hard not to show my excitement. It was just a meeting, after all, nothing more. 'I look forward to it.'

'Miss Heartfilia.'

'Yes?'

I held my breath, waiting for him to lay down the parameters of this meeting. Do not expect this to be any more than it is on the surface: two professionals doing business. Do not delude yourself into pretending this is a real date.

'I don't know where you live.'

* * *

Whoever said that black makes you thinner obviously did not have the same clothes that were hanging in  _my_ closet. First I tried on my favorite black pants, which were no longer my favorite thanks to the holes in them, courtesy of my puppy, Plue. The black turtleneck only made me look like I had a double chin, and the black crochet shrug that had looked so cute on me when I first bought it only brought back bad memories of my ex.

I sifted through wraps and cardigans and shells and blazers, A-line skirts and pleated ones and cocktail ones, tossing them off one by one onto the floor as Plue hopped away in vain, trying not to get trapped underneath. I marched to my bathroom in frustration. I faced the mirror and looked at myself.

I didn't look like how I did 2 years ago, when I first started going out with Gray, my ex. People tell me that I've gotten slimmer; that I looked younger than I really was; that I'm managing so well despite that awful break-up. But when I look into the mirror, I don't see the shining blond hair that other people envied; I don't see the delicate, heart-shaped face that other people see; I don't see the slim waistline and hourglass figure that other people would die to have… All I see is the broken, nerdy girl with pimples and baby fat and double chin.

Shaking my head, I pushed away those thoughts. I was a successful and financially stable lawyer now. I'm not weak and helpless anymore. There's no need for me to keep having my past affect my future.

'Here's the thing,' I said to myself. 'You don't have to look like Mirajane Strauss from Weekly Sorcerer to discuss the best way to execute someone.'

Finally, I decided on a casual, navy blue A-line dress that reached my knees and accentuated my figure. I added a belt to my get-up. There. It was not too complicated but still made me look sophisticated and elegant. I twisted my hair up and stabbed it with a hair stick, letting the stray strands frame my face. I hoped it looked artful and Grecian instead of just messy and out of time, like how my ex used to put it.

I applied light make-up – just some pink blush, a touch of eye shadow and a bit of mascara and lip gloss.

At exactly seven, the doorbell rang. I took one last look in the mirror – the outfit clearly said casual, together and not trying too hard – and opened the door to find Dr Dragneel wearing a coat and tie.

'I can change,' I said quickly. 'I didn't know we were going somewhere nice. Not that I wouldn't expect you to take me somewhere nice. Or that you're  _taking_ me. I mean, I'm taking myself and you're taking you. We're just going in the same car.'  _Damn it, I'm rambling. Stop rambling!_

But then I noticed that Dr Dragneel wasn't saying anything. He was just standing there, gaping at me. I blushed.

Finally snapping out of his stupor, Dr Dragneel coughed and said, 'You look lovely. And this is just how I dress all the time.'

'Even on your day off?'

'Well, I  _am_  British,' he replied with a grin. Then he hooked his finger in his collar and slipped the tie from his shirt. He draped it over the inside knob of the front door.

'When I was in college and someone did that it meant –' I broke off, remembering what it did mean: don't enter, because your roommate is getting lucky. 'It meant that, um, you were busy studying for a test.'

'Really?' Dr Dragneel said. 'How strange. At Crocus, it meant your roommate was inside having sex.'

'Maybe we should go.' I said quickly, hoping he didn't notice the fierce blush that was spreading across my face like a wildfire.

He opened the car door for me and didn't turn on the engine until my seat belt was fastened. As he sped off, he cleared his throat. 'There's something I want to get out of the way before we go any further,' he said.

I stiffened. Had he noticed that I might have a teensy little crush on him? Oh no, maybe he was going to say he was already in a relationship or that he's engaged or –

'I'm Natsu.'

Oh.

* * *

The restaurant was inside an old colonial home in Hargeon, with floorboards that rolled like the seas beneath my feet and a bustling kitchen off to one side. The hostess had a husky, mellifluous voice and greeted the doctor by name.

The room we were sitting in had only six tables covered with mismatched linen and dishes and glasses; candles burned in recycled wine bottles.

Natsu smiled at me. 'I've always wondered how one went about losing his heart, but I didn't think it would happen to me.'

I blushed. But then I reminded myself that he was probably talking about my client's case on donating his heart to a little girl. So there goes my hope of him ever liking me.

The waiter arrived with our plates. The menu had been full of the most delectable cuisine: Escargot tortellini, chorizo dumplings. Even the descriptions of the entrees made me salivate.  _Handmade to order, fresh Italian parsley pasta filled with fresh artichoke hearts, roasted eggplants, a medley of cheeses, an sweet-roasted red and yellow pepper, tossed with a sun-dried tomato cream sauce. Slices of boneless chicken lined with thin slices of prosciutto filled with fresh spinach, Asiago cheese, and sweet onion rolled and served with fresh fettuccine and a tomato marsala wine reduction._

In the wild hope that I might fool Natsu into thinking my waist size was not what it seemed to be (thanks to flashbacks of what Gray used to say to me when we went out to eat), I'd swallowed hard and ordered an appetizer. I'd fervently wished that Natsu would order the braised leg of lamb or the steak fries so I could beg a taste, but when I said I wasn't all that hungry (which was a colossal lie), he said an appetizer was all he wanted too.

Darn it.

After finishing our appetizers and discussing about serious matters, it had already been an hour. Our meeting wasn't as professional as I thought it would be, since Natsu has an amazing sense of humor and kept the both of us cracking up the entirety of our discussion. He really was too good for me.

_'_ _You know you're too good for me, right, Gray?'_

_'_ _You're too good for me too, Lucy, do_ you  _know that?'_

I suddenly froze up at the memory.

Natsu noticed and leaned forward. 'Lucy?' And he put his hand on top of mine. 'Are you all right?'

_No, I'm not. Because you're just so alike him and I'm just so sick of having my heart broken again._

Instead of saying all that, I simply nodded and tried to give him a convincing smile. But Natsu saw through it and frowned. He opened his mouth to say something but right then the waiter appeared at the side of the table. 'I hope you've left room for dessert.'

I have nothing but room; my appetizer had been a crab cake the size of my thumbnail. But I could feel the warmth of Natsu's hand on mine, and it was like heat at the tip of the candle – only a matter of time before the rest of me melted too. 'Oh, I couldn't,' I said. 'I'm stuffed.'

'Right,' Natsu said, and instantly slipped his hand away from mine. 'I guess just the bill then.'

Something changed in his features – there was this chill to his voice that wasn't there just a moment before. 'What's wrong?' I asked. He shook his head, dismissive. Why was he – Oh.  _Oh._

'Is it because of me? I didn't mean to brush you off just now. I was just thinking of something – 'I started rambling.

Natsu shook his head again. 'No, that's not it.'

The waiter sidled over with the bill, tucked into a leather folder. Natsu reached for it. 'My last steady girlfriend was a ballet dancer for the Edolas Ballet.'

'Oh,' I said feebly, unconsciously looking down at my hands on my lap. 'She must have been…' Beautiful. Graceful. Skinny.

Everything I wasn't.

'Every time we went out for a meal, I always felt like some sort of… _glutton_ …because I had an appetite, and she never ate a  _damn_  thing. Plus, she would keep on criticizing my eating habits as I ate. I suppose I thought – well, I  _hoped_  – that you'd be different.'

'But I love chocolate,' I blurted out. 'And apple fritters and pumpkin pie and mousse and tiramisu and I probably would have eaten everything on this menu if I didn't think it would make me look like a pig. I was trying to be…' My voice trailed off.

'…what you thought I was looking for?'

I focused my attention on the napkin on my lap. Leave it to me to ruin a date that wasn't even really one.

'What if what I was really looking for,' Natsu slowly said. 'was you?'

I lifted my head slowly as Natsu summoned back our waiter. 'Tell us about dessert,' he said.

'We have a crème brulee , a fresh blueberry tart, warm peach puff pastries with homemade ice cream and caramel sauce, and my personal favorite,' the waiter said. 'Chocolate French toast with a thin pecan crust, served with mint ice cream and our own raspberry sauce.'

'What shall we try?' Natsu asked me expectantly. His eyes gleaming and bursting at the seams with an emotion I can't name. His bright smile actually made me  _glad_  that I do have a big appetite.

I turned to the waiter. 'Maybe we could skip back to the main course first,'

And I smiled.

 


End file.
